


Bloodlust

by inpominusrex



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Age Difference, Biting, Blood Drinking, Body Worship, Captivity, Dirty Talk, F/F, Groping, Humiliation, Master/Servant, Mutual Pining, Objectification, Possessive Behavior, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29348619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inpominusrex/pseuds/inpominusrex
Summary: You find yourself at the mercy of four sadistic women, and they all want to eat you in more ways than one.
Relationships: Lady Dimitrescu (Resident Evil)/Reader, Lady Dimitrescu's Daughters (Resident Evil)/Reader
Comments: 26
Kudos: 194





	1. Sweet Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, wow. Have I really stooped to this level? Yes, and I have no regrets. This has been stirring in my head since July, a month after the first trailer was released and before there was any content of these characters. I don't know how I survived. I should've written this a long time ago, but I honestly thought I'd be the only girl out there with crushes on these women (oh how wrong I was). Thanks goes to all the people who already wrote stuff for Alcina/Reader. You've enabled me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow start, I gotta establish the scenery first!

It’s a calm winter afternoon in Romania, and you were sitting patiently in the back of a taxi. You had just gotten off an early-morning flight, and your next stop was a hotel outside of a village up the road. You’re surrounded on all sides by trees so close together that only the sky above is visible. 

Occasionally, you’d see red foxes running through the forest, and would snap a photo of them as best as you could while inside a moving car. Ahead, you could see the hotel you’d be staying at, and put your camera in your bag.

You smiled to yourself, thinking of how lucky you were to finally live out your dream. You loved photography, and over the past few years, you’d had a growing desire to see the rest of the world. You’d been saving up for years, and now you finally had enough to plan out all the aspects of travel: the flights, the taxi rides to and from the airport, the hotels, the meals, the things you’d do when you were finally at your destination. 

At first, you were dissuaded since you had no one to go with. Nobody was ever quick enough to keep up with you. At the same time, you were relieved because traveling alone was cheaper, and you wouldn’t have to wait on anyone. You preferred setting your own schedule, seeing as much as you could before it was time to go.

All these trips you took reminded you of the Odyssey (and like in the story, there was also a fair share of danger, but you wouldn’t make this connection until later, when it was too late). Not all of travel was exciting; sometimes entire days were spent to get from one point to another. 

You’ll be staying here for one night, and tomorrow morning, you’ll take the taxi back to the airport to catch the next plane. Passing time between connecting flights was annoying, but it also gave you the opportunity to check out the area around where you were staying. Unfortunately, there didn’t appear to be anything interesting about this village.

You check in at the front desk, are given a set of keys (most hotels these days would give you an electronic key card; you must really be out in the sticks here), and find your room on the second floor. You unlock the door, pull your suitcase in with you, and hang your bag on the back of a chair. There is no TV, and the room has the barest of necessities.

Looking out the room’s single window, you’re greeted with trees in every direction, snow, and little else. The village nearby was in the middle of a clearing and looked exactly how you expected it to: small, quiet, and unassuming. What got the best of your attention, though, was what you saw in the sky: a set of tall towers, all close to one another and stretching as far as you could see. A castle. It was strange how none of the brochures you read about this area of Romania ever mentioned a castle.

You’d wanted to take a nap because of your jet lag, but now you were thinking about seeing this place up close. You weren’t worried about getting lost, as something this big could be seen from everywhere. The village itself was populated by a few small buildings, which was nothing compared to the confusing layout of some of the cities you’d been to.

Grabbing your bag, you make sure you have pepper spray packed in case you encounter anyone with bad intentions. You also check for other essentials, such as a lighter and a firestarter, for making an emergency fire. Most important of all is your camera.  
At the last second, you decide to pack your wallet and phone. You’d spotted a few shops and a tavern, so you kept a few dollars in your wallet and locked the rest in a safe. You couldn’t get any service here, making the phone essentially useless, but it still made you feel better to have it with you.

You turn off the lights and walk downstairs, cutting through the tiny lobby. Outside, the ground was frozen in some places, so you walked on snow when you could. You noticed how the sky seemed to look cold, if that were possible (you swore that winter skies looked different than how they did in any other season). The howling of wolves resounds from the forest, sending a chill through you. You’re not bothered, though, because you know they preferred to avoid interacting with humans (you don’t blame them).

The one thing that started to gnaw at you was the sight of that castle. It certainly looked ominous, and you tried to push your anxiety out of your head (a fight you had with yourself several times a day, which you usually lost). You knew that photographers around the world, especially ones working around wild animals, had been in scarier situations. You briefly recall a story you read about a few years ago; the photographer nearly died while trying to take a picture of a meteor shower during a volcanic eruption. It’s not like you were in a situation like that. Why were you so anxious?

After an uncertain amount of time spent passing rows of dilapidated houses (the village looked so much smaller from the window in your room) and taking the occasional picture, you’re finally looking up at the castle’s main gate, which is unlocked. In all the travel magazines you poured over, you had never seen a castle this big. It stretched as far as you could see, into the mountains beyond.

It must be occupied, as some of the windows have lights on. And yet nobody in the village came anywhere near it (or perhaps they were scared of it, trying to keep it out of their vision). You make a mental note to ask a local in the tavern on the way back why (there must be a good reason).

You snap a few shots of the outside and realize that your ears are getting numb. The nearest place with heat was the tavern you passed, but from here, it was quite a walk away. The wind seemed to pick up the more the sun seemed to lower, which wouldn’t make the way back any easier. You were also still tired from your flight.

It might be a good idea to step inside and get warm. You look up at the windows again, noticing that the ones with lights on are further to the back of the complex. This made you feel better, as it meant that there was probably nobody around the entrance. You wouldn’t stay long, and if there were signs of anyone in there, running away was always an option.

You nudge the gate open and step up to the front door, mentally saying a quick prayer; you’d really like to avoid a confrontation (you were never good at those). You push it open a tiny bit, enough for you to peek in and see if anyone’s around. It’s dark, so you assume there isn’t (you know what they say about people who make assumptions). Once you’re on the other side of the door, you make sure to close it slowly, so as not to make a sound. A few candles are lit and the room is empty.

Taking a few steps forward, you notice how everything in the room seemed to have a gold shimmer. There was a huge chandelier (you were always afraid of being directly beneath one), a curving staircase to your left that led up to a balcony, and suits of armor to your right, standing guard around a fancy set of furniture.

You inspect a plush-looking sofa and decide to sit down, taking a moment to unwind and breathe. It’s nice to not see your breath for once. After a few minutes, the warmth you’ve taken in has you feeling confident enough to make the trip back to the hotel.

Casting a glance at the far end of the room, you see another door, a tall double one (you never understood why anyone made doors this tall). The mystery of what could be behind it made you feel as if you were missing out on an opportunity to take more pictures. You wish you could stay and explore, but it’s too risky. 

While you have the chance, you decide to get a few shots of the interior. Backing up and trying to fit the whole room in the frame, you raise your camera, turn the flash on, and take a picture of the spacious hall in front of you. There’s a small click. You quickly take a few more in case the first one was blurry. Click click click. Time to leave.

The camera is returned to your bag and you swing it over your shoulder. When you’re almost to the door, you think you hear something moving behind you on the balcony. You take a quick look back, seeing nothing odd. You stand still and hold your breath, hoping to hear better. A whispering noise. It sounded like… giggling?

You hasten your steps and reach your arm out toward the door, not bothering to stay quiet. It doesn’t matter now, anyway; once you’re outside, no one is going to bother chasing after you, as it’s getting colder and darker out now. You’d flit away into the oncoming night, never to be seen again.

You push the door and it remains in place. It’s locked. How?! You must’ve closed it wrong, or perhaps the wind was blowing toward you, holding the door in place. Were you trapped in here? You always jumped to the worst possible conclusion in any situation, and you remind yourself to calm down. Your assumptions are usually wrong (not this time).

The giggling you heard gets louder, sounded more like a cackle now, and then a voice excitedly cries out, “Look! Dinner has finally arrived!” To your horror, the chandelier’s lights turn on in a blinding flash. You blink your eyes and search the room rapidly before setting them on three people wearing black shrouds, looking down at you from the balcony.

Fuck. You sigh, knowing that you’ve been caught. The people living here must have ordered takeaway (you didn’t think rich people did this), and they think you’re here to deliver it. You feel a sullen expression crawl onto your face, knowing how angry they’ll be when they find out that you’re a trespasser with empty hands.

The three of them quickly descend the staircase and surround you, all of them women. They still have eager expressions, despite seeing that you don’t have any food with you. Something in your mind is telling you that you’re in danger. You ignore it, thinking that your anxiety is overreacting again (it isn’t). You also realize that there’s occultic marks on their face, and something that appears to be blood smeared across their mouths. This has to be a prank, it can’t be real blood (it is).

“Uh… I’m not here to deliver your food. I’m sorry, I was just passing through,” you confess, knowing that ‘passing through’ was definitely an understatement at this point.

Your apology is answered by a chorus of laughter, but at least they don’t appear to be angry at you. Then they get closer.  
“You misunderstood me, babe,” the one in the middle mocks. She had blonde hair that seemed to grow wild, showing no signs of being tameable. “The only dinner here is you.” They pull out sickles to emphasize their point, and it seems like they have dried blood on them already...

That scares the hell out of you (you decide not to think about why she was calling you by a pet name). You don’t care if this is all an elaborate joke or not; you’re getting out of here. You start brainstorming an escape plan, but stop when you hear a clicking sound. The floor also moves a bit. An earthquake? 

No, it was more likely to be an avalanche in the snowy mountains around here (it wouldn’t be the strangest thing to happen today). You accepted this as your explanation, and then the girl who called you a pet name (you couldn’t get over that) turns away to look at something. The other two women follow her gesture.

Another figure comes into your vision at the end of the room. A tall woman is opening the double doors you noticed earlier with flair, making it seem as if she enjoys the idea of intruding on whatever kind of meeting this is. 

She’s wearing a white dress that hugs her in all the right places, which reminds you of a wedding cake (a voice in your head says that she’s more like the whole bakery) and most noticeably, a giant black hat. There’s a matching black brooch on her left side, positioned above what is undeniably a huge pair of assets (you avert your eyes, which was something you often did while looking at other women).

You think this woman is the mother of the trio around you, or at least a capable adult, and you internally sigh with relief. No way she was part of all this. Maybe now she’ll put an end to their stupid prank.

“We’ve found quite the catch tonight. And we didn’t even have to trick her! So innocent looking… she’ll be fun to break in.” Or not.

You felt a familiar brewing sensation in your stomach, which always started up when things were about to take a turn for the worse. She stalks closer to you, her hands on her hips. Her visage was a terror to behold, yet alluring at the same time. She had yellow eyes (so help me, god, yellow eyes), pallid skin, perfect eyebrows and lipstick that was so dark it seemed to be black. 

You take notice of how tall she is, even when she’s leaning over to examine you (you think of an ant being peered at through a magnifying glass), and then you realize that there is no avalanche; it’s this woman’s footsteps that are causing the floor to move. This doesn’t comfort you.

The door behind you is a lost cause, so you consider making a run for it. But there’s four of them and one of you, and if you were somehow fast enough to create some distance between you and these women (who were intent on eating or murdering you), you were still probably going to be caught because you didn’t know the layout of the castle. A place this big would practically be a labyrinth for you.

You had to talk your way out of this. “I’ll be going now,” you murmur. “I was only here to get warm. I’ll delete any pictures I took of this place...” You take off your bag and pull out your camera, setting both on the floor in case she wanted you to go through with what you said.

“You were trying to get warm?” she questions, suddenly seeming to be genuinely curious. “Why didn’t you say something? I know of a nice way to heat you up...” 

You’re struck with the mental image of her shoving you to the floor, opening your legs, her fingers hungrily reaching inside of you, stretching you out, and you try to shut down your overactive imagination. You can feel heat spreading throughout your entire body (to be fair, she did say she would warm you up), and you know you’re blushing, because the next time she speaks, she seems to be fawning over you. 

“You’re so cute, I could just eat you up and leave no bones behind,” she cooed, as if the compliment (you honestly weren’t sure if it was one or not) she gave you wasn’t terrifying. “I can’t just let you leave. And do you know why that is?”

“Because you’re hungry?” you replied, referring to both her and the three spectators.

She reels her head back and laughs, the kind of laugh that one makes at a stupid answer to a question (and you knew damn right well that you sounded stupid). The women behind her are smiling and staring at you, seeming to look you up and down (you recognized this as something that men usually did; you can’t remember any women ever making you feel so vulnerable).

“Yes, but no. It’s because you crossed into our territory, and anything that comes in here is considered to be ours. As far as I’m concerned, you lost your freedom as soon as you made the decision to come in here.”

You can’t argue your way out of this one. You stand there, frozen in place, feeling the most cold you’d felt all day while simultaneously thinking that you had a fever (or maybe that was the blush on your face). You can’t predict what will come next, but when the tall woman starts walking towards you, causing the floor to tremble again, you know that nothing good will come from a shortened distance between you and her.

Making one last attempt, you push against the door behind you again, knowing that there was, at most, a foot between you and the outside. It doesn’t budge (fuck that thing).

“So close and yet so far away,” she purrs with false pity. You’re staring at the shaking floor, too scared to make eye contact. Then the room seems to grow darker, and you force yourself to look up and see what’s happening. 

She’s now standing over you, blocking the light from the chandelier. You’re completely covered in her shadow. She looks so smug about your predicament, knowing that she’s won (not that there was ever any doubt that she would). Lines pull at the corners of her mouth; she couldn’t smile wider if she wanted to (you can’t help being transfixed by that lipstick-covered smirk).

You’re then grabbed by the throat with one hand and slammed into the door (it still wouldn’t open). She’s so close that you can feel her hot breath (it smells like wine with a touch of iron). She then takes her tongue and drags it up the left side of your face. You shiver at this, and your teeth start to chatter, yet you still have that warm feeling spreading through you (maybe even in places you didn’t expect).

She then raises her right hand. Metallic scythes extend from her fingertips (or maybe she was wearing a special kind of glove) and she uses her pointer finger (or claw) to slice through the skin on the left side of your neck, above your aorta. You feel the coldness from the claws, and then suddenly warmth as blood starts flowing out, running down your neck and getting all over your jacket (you must be in shock; why else would you worry about something so stupid during a time like this).

“Sweet dreams,” she whispers into your ear. She then clamps her teeth around the wound and starts sucking. 

You’re clenching your jaw now, holding the pain in. You didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of hearing you scream. You try pushing her off of you with your arms and start kicking, and she grips you with more force and pushes her body against your legs, pinning them. You can feel your strength fading, can feel yourself losing consciousness. If you weren’t tired before, you most certainly are now. You’re waging a hopeless battle against exhaustion. 

Worst of all, you couldn’t get those last two words she said to you out of your head as you felt yourself grow numb. She then drops you to the floor like a pile of used rags, and you overhear her telling someone to take you into the cellar. Something is pressed to your neck and you’re picked up, but you don’t care. You’re feeling the most relaxed you’d felt all day, and you’re ready to give in to the need for sleep. It was the least you deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE HORROR!


	2. Visiting Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader, wake up! You fucked up big time

The next thing you remember is adjusting your eyes to the dark, having just woken up from feeling cold. Looking down at yourself, you understood why: your blanket was on the floor, no longer covering the thin nightgown you had on (you’re not sure where it came from). You pick it up and hold it close to you, smoothing it out, making sure that the longer side is running parallel to your body. You hated it when the blanket wasn’t facing the right way.

You’re lying on top of a bed, raised above the floor on a collapsible frame and against a wall. Across from you is a writing desk and a chair, which has your bag on it. Besides that, the room is empty. You notice the door is barred and has a lock chained in place. Are you in jail? You must have done something bad to be put in a place like this, but can’t remember anything. You recall walking by a tavern at some point. Maybe someone in there attacked you?

It might explain the pain you feel in your neck. Your hand reaches up to the left side and touches a bandage there. You want to peel it off and examine what’s underneath, but you know the bandage won’t stick back on again. It probably hasn’t healed yet, either, and you didn’t want it to get infected. Were you stabbed in the neck by someone? If so, you were lucky to be alive. There must’ve been a lot of blood.

Thinking of blood makes you remember something. The stuff was pouring down your neck and onto your jacket at one point; what caused that? You try to imagine how you found yourself in that situation. You were looking down at the floor, so you must’ve been held up by someone...

Oh, god. You wish you hadn’t remembered. Everything comes back to you: what happened, when it took place (you assume it was yesterday), where you went, who you saw, and why you were in a cell.

And you felt stupid. You hadn’t been thrown in jail for being forced to defend yourself. You were here because of a decision you made, a foolish decision that could’ve killed you (and you weren’t sure that you were in the clear yet). Even though you didn’t know it at the time, you still willingly walked into the home of four bloodthirsty women; hell, you might as well have had someone tie a bow on your head and push you into their arms.

But you don’t have time to beat yourself up about this, because you hear a familiar clicking sound down the hall, and the bed frame below you starts to rattle. You know what that means: the bitch in the white dress is coming, and she’ll be here any moment. A crazy idea comes to mind and you immediately throw the blanket off: you must hide. But the only hiding place that’s viable is under the bed...

It would have to do. You spread out the blanket so that the sides cover the gap between the bed and the floor, and scramble underneath. Maybe she’ll just glance inside and assume that you’ve escaped, and will go off looking for you. You knew that eventually you’d have to face her, but you wanted to put that off for as long as possible. You’ll burn that bridge when you cross it.

To your dismay, you hear a key turn in the lock, the rattling of chains, and she steps inside. She hadn’t fallen for your little trick. Fuck.

From this point on, you’ll no longer have to wonder what it feels like to be thrown in a cage with a wild animal; you’re going to experience it firsthand. Except this situation is so much worse. With animals, you can kind of predict their actions: if they’re hungry, they’ll kill you; if they aren’t, they’ll ignore you, saving you for later. With this woman, you don’t even know what she wants from you. How can you guess what will happen?

“Hmm, I wonder where the new toy has gotten off to,” her voice taunts. Of course this would be a game to someone like her.

You worry yourself sick as you know that within seconds, she is going to realize where you are, reach under the bed, and pull you out. It will be humiliating, and then you will be forced to look up at her again, into her eyes, and you will feel your heart jump out of your chest (you’d also be blushing furiously, but you didn’t want to admit this).

With your head near the bottom end of the bed, you check the sides around you, trying to predict where she’ll grab you from. You know the outcome will be terrible either way, but you want to mentally prepare yourself as much as you can.

Her next move comes from above, and everything seems to happen at once. The mattress, once giving you shelter from her line of sight, is now threatening to come down onto your head. The bottom end of the bed starts to buckle, and the frame squeals, almost as if it’s pleading for mercy.

In a few more seconds, your head will be crushed. You don’t understand what’s going on, but you can’t stay under here. You hear her laugh darkly, clearly enjoying this, and remember the smug look she gave you earlier, when she had you pinned to the door. You’ve been trapped once again.

Your only option now is to surrender (you’re somewhat thankful that you weren’t forcibly dragged out). Once you crawl to safety, you stand up and turn around, your heart pounding in your chest. She’s sitting on the mattress with her legs crossed, and you realize that she had been using her weight to try and crush you (you can’t explain why you’re feeling jealous of a mattress). She looks so satisfied with herself, knowing that she’d taken you by surprise. How could you have known she’d use your hiding place against you?

Without your blanket, you become aware of how cold you are, and how thin your nightgown is (you wonder what happened to your bloody jacket and the rest of your clothes). You then make your first mistake: crossing your arms over your chest.

Attempting to hide your body causes her to scowl, so you quickly uncross your arms, and the smirk returns to her lips (it enrages you and yet you wanted nothing more than to feel how soft they are). She knew you were trying to cover yourself up, and she wants you to be exposed (the blush on your face is back again).

“Why were you hiding?” She tilts her head in fake curiosity. “Are you afraid of what I can do to you? Or are you just afraid of me?”

She stands up, causing the bed to spring back into place, leaning over you like before. Her hat is only a few inches below the ceiling, which must be ten feet high. Jesus Christ, how is this possible? You didn’t notice this during your first meeting, since you were in one of the most spacious rooms you’d ever been in. But seeing her in such a small cell made you realize just how mind-bendingly large she is.

It’s no wonder she caused the floor to tremble when she walked, or how she almost crushed you when you hid under the bed. You’d been staring for so long (your gaze also moved down a bit) that you almost forgot she’d asked you a question.

“Both,” you squeak. Your knees feel weak just by looking up at her, so you sit on the floor, trying to appear as small as possible (which was easy if you compared your size to hers). You want to pull your knees up to your chest, but you know she’ll get mad again if you do.

You move away from her until you feel the barred door pressing into your back. Not that it matters; she could easily reach from across the room and grab you by the neck (the thought of this both terrifies and thrills you).

“Seeking is what I do best, so don’t fill your head with silly ideas of running away.” She’s now kneeling in front of you, her head still several feet above yours. She may be good at seeking, but you know she’d probably be awful at the ‘hiding’ part. Could any place be big enough to hide her? You push this out of your head; you have other things to worry about right now.

“You’re going to be spending a long time here with me, beautiful,” she growled possessively. It was getting harder and harder for you to deny what this woman wanted out of you. You managed to be in Romania for less than a day and you already had the attention of a monster. How could you fuck up this badly?

“How lucky for you that I’ve been craving a new toy to play with. Otherwise…” She drew out the claws on her right hand, making the cutthroat gesture (which you somehow felt aroused by).

She retracts the claws and reaches toward the bandage on your neck. You think she might bite you again, and move your head to the other side. She doesn’t like that.

“Let me see it,” she demands, and you comply. She puts her thumb over it, pressing on it. The pressure evokes pained gasps from you, making her smile with pride for having left such a big mark on you. She starts rubbing it, and you unwittingly lean your head closer to her, straining for contact, until the hand is pulled away (you feel somewhat saddened by this).

“So, instead of killing you, I’ve decided to keep you here as a servant. Of course, you’ll have to look the part…” She points somewhere to her right, at the writing desk. You’d been so occupied with her presence that you didn’t notice there was now something on top of it.

It was a maid outfit, the skimpiest one you’d ever seen. Something inside of you seems to physically pull at your lower stomach, the way a fishing rod yanks a fish. The blush on your face has now spread throughout your entire body, heating you up, and you’re sure she’s noticed, too.

“Um, I’ve never worn something so skimpy in my life, I don’t think I could,” you muttered, unable to stop yourself. She stands up, and you’re afraid that she might claw your head off right then and there.

“I figured you’d say that. You can either wear it, or work naked. Your choice,” she says while shrugging, acting as if the decision was between choosing flavors of ice cream (you wonder how long it’s been since you last ate).

“I’ll wear it,” you sigh, relieved that she didn’t torture or kill you for your distaste of the uniform.

“Good girl,” she smiled, patting your head. “I’ll leave you to get changed, and then you’ll come back upstairs. And if you don’t,” she threatened, still smiling, “I’ll send one of my daughters to get you instead.”

You’d rather not spend any more time than necessary with her daughters, especially the one that called you a pet name. You remembered the way they looked at you, because they didn’t just give you a once-over; they were staring at certain… parts of you.

You were used to that kind of stare; it was an unfortunate part of being a woman. But you never received that look from the same gender. It would be flattering if they weren’t thinking about using you as a food source.

The tall woman opened the door to leave, and you were shocked (disappointed) that she didn’t stay behind and watch you undress. Before she ducks through the doorway, however, she stops and turns around so fast she nearly gives you a heart attack.

“I’d rather leave some things up to the imagination,” she explains, almost as if she had read your mind. “And like a present, I’ll enjoy you more when it’s the right time to open you up,” she grins while showing her teeth, closing the door behind her and disappearing down the hallway.

Fuck. You wait until you’re sure the floor stops moving, and allow yourself to breathe. You would’ve collapsed at what she said if you hadn’t already been sitting. This woman knew exactly how to turn you on, and she hadn’t even really touched you yet. You remember how you felt earlier, as if someone had tied a bow on your head and handed you over to these people. You had to admit that it was the perfect metaphor for your situation, especially since she compared you to a present.

The door to your cell was left unlocked. You’re too afraid to even think about escaping, and decide to play along for a while. You were pretty good at acting, so you might be able to pull this whole uniform thing off (or they will, a voice from the back of your head warns).

After changing (you decide not to think about the way your chest is accentuated, or how short the skirt is), you push the door open and step into the hallway, following the direction that the tall woman had just taken. The floor is covered in bloodstains, so many that you can’t avoid stepping on them. They’re different shades of red and brown; whatever happens down here has been happening over a long period of time, even recently...

A staircase is up ahead, illuminated from somewhere above, and you make yourself walk towards it. You pray you won’t see anyone else (your prayers haven’t been answered much lately, but a part of you still has hope) along the way. You don’t think your heart can take another fearful (and arousing) encounter like that.

Unfortunately, whoever’s been in charge of answering prayers lately hates you, because the very next person you encounter is the last one you wanted to see.

You feel a pair of arms grab you from behind, tightly holding onto your hips, pulling you backwards against their giggling owner. You try to scream, but one of the hands rushes up and covers your mouth. You don’t have to turn around to know who’s behind you: the blonde daughter. The one most likely to eat you. The one who probably has the least amount of self-control. Clearly, she can’t even keep her hands to herself.

“Be quiet,” she snaps, hugging your waist with amazing strength. You can’t suppress your fight-or-flight response, though, and try squirming out of her grasp. She expected this, as she immediately retakes control and slams you against the wall (you wouldn’t be surprised if your back had bruises by now), pinning her sickle around your throat.

You never saw her coming. She must’ve been hiding at the other end of the hallway, waiting for the perfect moment to scare you. It was darker in that direction, so you didn’t bother checking to see if anyone was hiding there. You hope she didn’t see you undress (or maybe you’re secretly wishing she did).

The blood staining her mouth earlier is gone, bringing you comfort at first. But if her face is clean, she hasn’t eaten yet today, and that means she’s probably hungry now. Fuck.

“Look at you,” she rasps. “Totally helpless before me. You’re not going to yell for help, are you? Not that anyone will come running to save you.” You shiver, knowing she’s not wrong. She pokes you on the lower lip with her finger (you don’t understand these women and their constant desire to touch you) and holds it there, shushing you (you wish she would put it in your mouth so you’d have an excuse to bite her; yes, that is the only reason you would want her to do that). You feel yourself frowning.

“But don’t look so sad,” she purrs, leaning in. “I can make you scream for better reasons.” You don’t think anyone has ever hit on you or threatened you (it could honestly go either way) so… well, blatantly.

“Are you always like this?” You can’t stop yourself from blurting out. You knew better than to ask questions, but you had to know the answer to this.

“Can you really blame me when I’m around a pretty thing like you? Just be glad that Mother told us we can’t play with you yet.” So she is their mother. But what does she mean by ‘playing’? You wait for her to continue despite being afraid to hear the reason.

“Because when we can, I’ll never be able to keep my hands off you. Or out of you.” Jesus Fucking Christ. This bitch really had no filter.

You can’t stop your mind from going places (it’s completely her fault for that), and the hot and bothered sensation is coursing through you again. This is the second time today that you felt this way; what the hell is wrong with you? Just a minute ago, you thought she was going to eat you.

“I overheard Mother asking you to come upstairs. I can make the trip easier for you.” To your relief, she removes the sickle from around your neck (you’re free to swallow again).

“No, really, it’s fine, I can just-” You can’t finish because she picks you up with two hands and throws you over her shoulder (you have a feeling that you’re going to be at the receiving end of a lot of this while you’re here). You want this brute of a woman to unhand you, but you’d rather not be dropped onto the floor. All those bloodstains would ruin your uniform (you can’t believe you’re thinking about stuff like this when you’re in danger).

“And they say chivalry is dead,” the rabid daughter cackles, showing no concern over whether you’re comfortable or not.

You were really dreading what waited for you at the top of that staircase, already tired of fighting back. How are you going to survive until nighttime? You want to crawl back in bed and hide under the covers like you did as a child. But there’s no respite here, and now, you’re about to face the biggest monster of them all...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god you were almost a [insert your name here] sandwich!


	3. The Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is why I changed the rating to explicit...I'll keep adding tags as they become relevant.

Dread.

It was all you could feel as you were carried up a flight of stairs, through multiple halls and doorways. The daughter, still holding you over her shoulder, made you wince in discomfort from how hard her grip was. Perhaps it was for the best that she offered to take you to her mother, though. You would’ve gotten lost otherwise.

You look up at a high doorway as you’re carried under it, reminding you of the door the tall woman first came out of. You think you may be close to your destination, and your fear is confirmed when your captor stops walking. Because of the way you’re held, you can’t see much of the room, but you take in what you can of the new surroundings. 

The ceiling is high and the walls are far apart; this might be the largest room in the castle, even bigger than the entrance hall where you had been taking pictures before The Bad Thing happened. The gold glimmer you noticed earlier is shimmering even more brilliantly here; it must be getting light from somewhere. Then the daughter clears her throat; it sounds dry (you don’t want to think about which liquid she’ll be drinking later).

“I brought our latest guest,” she announces. She’s addressing a person you can’t see, but you don’t have to guess their identity. The woman in the white dress. You weren’t ready to face her, would never be ready. You have a sense of impending doom (a tiny part of you is excited) and would be shaking with fear if you weren’t being held so tightly.

You also wonder about what latest guest refers to. Were there other people like you in this place? They must be living in cells like yours. If you survive this encounter, you think the next thing you’ll do is look for other occupants. The blood stains on the floor don’t give you much confidence in finding anyone alive, though.

“I don’t recall asking you to fetch her,” the mother answers sternly. Based on the direction her voice came from, she’s right behind you and probably has a very good view of what’s beneath your skirt. You flush in embarrassment.

She didn’t sound happy, though, and you think part of the reason for that was because her daughter did something she shouldn’t have. It seems that everything has to go exactly by this woman’s plans, or she’d be displeased; a horrible combination for someone who got a thrill out of torturing, eating, and killing people.

“I just happened to, ah, stumble across her in the cellar. We were both heading in the same direction,” her daughter explains. Unsurprisingly, she left out the details of how she ‘stumbled’ upon you. 

You’re not sure if her mother would approve of the trick she’d pulled, how she had you pinned against a wall with a sickle hugging your throat. Would she be jealous? Did she know that one of her offspring seemed to find you attractive? You hope that sister is an outlier. You can’t imagine being chased after by all three of them, in addition to their mother (you wouldn’t be thrilled by it, no, of course not).

“Nevermind. Just put her down on the floor, at my feet, where she belongs.” You are unceremoniously dropped onto the carpet (so much for chivalry) and lift yourself up into a kneeling position. You’re facing a row of arched glass windows and notice that it’s daytime. With such a view, this must be an important room, but what’s it used for?

You want to keep staring forward, afraid of who was looming behind you, but you know she’s capable of grabbing you and forcing you to look at her. It would be best to get this over with as soon as possible, like ripping off a bandage… much like the one on your neck. 

It hurt when she bit you, but you passed out before it got unbearable. Will she do it to the other side of your neck this time? If so, getting bitten might be the least painful thing (you also consider other things she could do to you, some that don’t involve bodily harm, and some that do) that could be inflicted upon you.

You know your thoughts are stalling you, so you turn around. 

She’s sitting on a throne, resembling a goddess (she deserves to be worshipped like one). You’ve never seen a throne in person, but you know that this must be the biggest of them all. And as massive as it is, she still makes it look tiny in comparison to her body, as if she’s outgrown it. She looks rather bored, resting her chin on her left hand; her right is on the armrest, which she’s impatiently tapping her fingers on. 

You allow yourself a quick glance downwards. Her dress seems to show her curves especially well while she’s sitting. Her thighs fill up the entire seat; she makes the throne look as if it might collapse beneath her at any moment (you think your face would make for a better one, but she’d probably crush your skull).

“Leave us,” she instructs. Her daughter doesn’t wait to be told twice, and exits through a door to your left. She grins evilly at you before closing it behind her. Bitch. 

You envy her and would give anything to be in her position, to be safe from whatever fate awaited you in here. You’d rather be a fly on the wall, or a spider in a corner of the room. You think about your bed back in the hotel and how much you had wanted to take a nap. If only you had; you would’ve woken up around nightfall, and you wouldn’t have come anywhere near this place in the dark.

The tall woman leans forward like she always does, getting a better view of you, but without the smug look she usually carries. “Look who decided to show up. Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you...”

She then calls you by your name.

How could she have known that? You rack your brain, trying to remember if you had ever let it slip. No, you couldn’t have. You never told your name to new people unless they asked for it first. Introducing yourself was awkward, and you preferred other people to do most of the work. An added bonus to this was being able to tell who thought you were worth talking to; if they asked what your name was first, it meant that they showed an interest in you.

And you had certainly caught the interest of this person, so much that she wanted to eat you in two different ways, perhaps at the same time. Fuck. 

Her knowing anything about you made you uncomfortable, but it was especially bad that she knew your name. One thing you learned over the course of your life was this: knowing someone’s name gave you a sort of power over them.

Two examples of this come to mind. You remember reading in a book about the reason why children were so good at learning the names of dinosaurs; being able to pronounce the dinosaur’s name gave them a sense of control over the creatures. This is the same reason why a lot of dog owners say to never list a dog’s name on a ‘lost pet’ flyer; if someone stole them, they could easily gain the trust of the dog by using his or her name.

That was what this situation felt like. “How did you know-”

“It’s on your ID card,” she said lazily, as if it were obvious.

The ID card in your wallet. You almost left it at the hotel, but you thought you might need it in case you went to the tavern (nobody ever believed you were over the age of 21, so you were often carded). It doesn’t matter, though, because she could’ve easily tortured you for it anyway. Maybe it was better she already knew; it gave her one less thing to coax out of you (you immediately tell yourself not to go anywhere else with that thought).

“Anyways, since I know your name, I’ll introduce myself. I’m Lady Dimitrescu, but you won’t be calling me that. You will only refer to me as Mistress.”

Dimitrescu. You wonder how to spell that. You know her last name now, but you don’t feel that sense of power you should have gotten with it. She has so much control over you that there’s no hope of gaining any for yourself; asking (demanding) that you call her Mistress just makes it that much more clear.

“I mentioned earlier that you are to be working here as a servant, so I am going to give you five rules to follow.” Her right hand is raised, her fingers splayed out. You jump as claws extend from them, and you notice the corner of her mouth curves up into a small smile (you hate how much you want to kiss her). 

Five rules. Okay, you can manage that. If you can count them on just one hand, you can remember them, right?

“For every rule you break, you get a nail through the heart.” In other words, you have no room to make any mistakes. Even messing up once will kill you. Fuck.

“I am not going to repeat myself, because I am tired of having to explain these rules. I’ve had many maids before you...”

She pauses for a bit, leaving time for you to consider what she said. What happened to them? Were they kidnapped, or were they as foolish as you had been and entered this place of their own free will? Did any of them manage to escape? No, that’s too optimistic. There’s no way someone as controlling as her would let anyone out of her grasp.

Her smile fully returns before she continues. “... And each and every one of them met a painful death for disobedience.”

Fuck. You knew that this was the most likely outcome, but her statement didn’t make it any easier for you to accept. She said it so casually, as if killing people was just a normal, everyday thing for her (and it is).

You recall something from last night (or whenever you had first stepped foot in here). “We didn’t have to trick this one,” was what she said when she saw you for the first time. That had to be a clue. Somehow, her daughters lured people into coming here, and any women they caught were forced to be this monster’s maids. And the ones who didn’t follow the rules, well...

“Rule one. You are mine. That means you do whatever I tell you to do, whenever and however I want it done.”

Only someone with an ego like hers would come up with such a rule. You feel something stir inside you, a combination of fear, anger, and revulsion (and arousal). You’ll play along for now; you can think of an escape plan when she’s finished (and if you’re still in one piece). You know you won’t last very long if making just one mistake will get you killed, so staying here will only result in your inevitable death. Escape is your only option.

“Rule two. You have to ask for permission from me to do anything. Right now, I’m permitting you to breathe, but I could just as easily put an end to that.”

You believe her. If she could pin you against that door (that fucking door) with one hand, you’re sure she could choke you with it, too. 

“Speaking also requires permission.”

This part confuses you. “Mistress, how am I supposed to ask for that if I can’t speak?” Fuck. You shouldn’t have said that, as you weren’t explicitly given the green light to talk, but this needs to be cleared up.

“Talking without permission already, are we? You’re lucky you’re cute,” she growls, narrowing her eyes. She’s giving you a second chance. “Anyways, I’m sure you can figure out something. I know it might be hard for you to understand, considering how you talk so much and think so little. Just tap me on the shoulder,” she suggests, scowling.

“But I can barely reach-” You put a hand over your mouth, preventing you from finishing your sentence (she was right about you talking too much). It was too late now, though. As soon as those words left your mouth, you knew you had fucked up again. You ruined your second chance.

Her left hand forms a fist and slams on the armrest like a gavel. You jump again, but it doesn’t get amusement out of her this time. “That’s it! I’m removing your vocal cords!” She begins to stand up, looking down at you as if you were a disgusting insect, one that needed to be stomped out of existence. You know you will have to come up with something very fast to save yourself. 

For the second time today, you had a crazy idea, the only one you could think of in such a short amount of time (you ignore how the idea you had earlier, of hiding under your bed, almost ended up with your head getting crushed).

You crawl closer to her on all fours, leveling your head to the floor, and kiss her heels. You’re also whispering please don’t kill me repeatedly, as if you were chanting a spell to save yourself (you need all the help you can get).

“Oh, yes!” she purrs, smirking. “That is how you properly grovel! I didn’t even have to train you to do that!” Satisfied, she sits back down. Too close. Too fucking close.

You’re starting to learn how to stay on her good side: by being as submissive as possible. You wonder how she handled previous maids, the ones who were more defiant and tried to fight back. Did she kill them right away? Or did she make a game out of their retaliation, playing with her prey before snuffing the life out of them?

“Rule three. Don’t complain about what is asked of you.”

You think this might be one of the easier ones to remember, until you give it some consideration. You hope she never hears you say ‘fuck’ under your breath; you’d been saying it for years for simple things, like dropping a pen on the floor. Nobody ever heard you, but you had a feeling that this woman would somehow know if you did, even from across the castle.

“Rule four. You are to kneel when in the presence of both me and my daughters.”

Oh, no. That blonde bitch is really going to enjoy seeing you on your knees, so much that you can easily imagine her grabbing the back of your head and pulling you between her legs (you need to stop thinking about this before you get hot and bothered again).

“Rule five. At the end of every day, you are to clean the soles of my heels.”

This is the most degrading one. No wonder she saved it for last. The thought of doing that is humiliating, but at the same time, you can’t deny a part of you is looking forward to it (you have fallen so far that you wonder if you can ever think normally again).

“Congratulations. You’ve made it to the end without crying. Wish I could’ve said the same for all the maids before you. Now, let’s give that last rule a test run…” she sets a foot down on your shoulder. It’s a lot heavier than you expected, so much that it’s pinning you to the floor. You couldn’t get away if you wanted to (you’re not completely sure if you want to).

You wait for her to provide you with something to clean them with. It doesn’t come. You get a very bad feeling about this.

She takes notice of your confused expression and suppresses a laugh, covering her mouth. She was good at making you feel left out of some inside joke, a joke that only she knows the punchline to. “You know what you have to do, don’t you?” 

She can’t be serious. 

She wants you to clean them with your tongue. Kissing is one thing, but licking?

You don’t have a choice, though. From now on, you will never have a choice. Taking her foot off your shoulder and holding it with two hands, you resign yourself to your fate. You start at the heel, dragging your tongue up slowly (lovingly). You ignore how nervous you are of what appears to be bloodstains on the soles; you’ll be doing this a lot in the future, so it’s best to not question where (or who) they came from.

When you’re completely sure there’s no stains left, you set it down and continue to give the same treatment to the other. You know that even after you’re done, you’ll never be able to get the taste out of your mouth.

Yet you can’t deny being turned on by this whole thing. If she knew that you were, she’d be repulsed. There wasn’t a rule forbidding you from being aroused, but you know she won’t approve. As long as she doesn’t catch on, though, you should be relatively safe (or as safe as you can be). Of course, things are never easy for you.

“Sit on my lap,” she commands. Well, fuck.

You do as she says, and she grabs your waist, turning you around with one hand and pulling your back against her chest (if only you were facing the other way). Her chin rests on your head, and a hand (the one without claws, thankfully) reaches down your top and starts groping you. You wanted to give in, to actually enjoy yourself, but then she suddenly stops.

“Wait a minute.” Fuck. She must have felt how wet you were through her dress. You shiver as her hand brushes across your thigh and grabs the edge of your panties, tugging them aside. She slips a finger between your folds.

She knows. It’s over. You’re about to experience what it feels like to come and go at the same time.

“Oh my word…” She retracts her finger. You can’t place whether she sounds disgusted, angry, or surprised, but she must be thinking about ending your life. You debate yourself on whether she’ll stab you through your chest or your back.

There were worse ways to die, of course. You thought that being tortured to death, burning alive, or getting torn apart by an animal were probably the top three worst ways to go. Stabbed through the heart, though? You hope it isn’t as painful as it sounds. If she’s mad enough, it might even be quick. Your heart feels like it could break through your rib cage. Was it possible that it, too, was aware of what was about to happen?

You hear a light popping sound and know right away what happened. She put her finger into her mouth, tasting you. The next few seconds feel like an eternity. You wish she would hurry up and get this over with.

“What a shame that you’re not ripe yet,” she says in disappointment, pushing you off her lap and onto the floor. A second later, she’s standing over you with her arms crossed and foot raised, holding it above you for a moment, savoring the look of fear on your face. Once you make eye contact, she slams her heel into your stomach.

“And here I thought you just looked like a slut. I am really going to enjoy making you my bitch,” she taunts, putting more pressure on you. Black spots are appearing at the edges of your vision, and you hold yourself back from crying out in agony. Before your body gives out from the pain, she lifts her foot up (you’ll definitely get a bruise from that). 

“I’ll let you go for now, but I suggest you take a bath.” She says this casually, as if she hadn’t almost fingered you and crushed you underfoot within the last minute. To your relief, she starts leaving the room (you feel a tinge of loneliness). Still lying on your back, you can feel the floor rattle with every step she takes. A part of you wants to follow her, but a bigger part is telling you that keeping your life would be better.

It seems too good to be true, but you survived and are free to go. Is this a trick? Is this her way of testing how loyal you are to her? If it was, she wouldn’t have left the room, right? 

Forcing yourself to stand up, you consider your next move. A bath actually sounds like a good idea. You came close to death too many times today, and you need a moment to unwind from all the tension you experienced (including the sexual kind). It would also be smart to get out of here before she changes her mind and comes back.

You decide to put off thinking about everything that happened today; that’s a problem for your future self to deal with. As you always said, you’d burn those bridges when you crossed them. The only thing that matters is getting that bath; if ever you needed self-care, it was right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It would be terrible if someone were to walk in on you during bath time...haha jk...unless...?


	4. Twice Bitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read the chapter title...that should give you an idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, Daniela gets really creepy and possessive near the end. I think that was predictable, though.

The bathroom wasn’t hard to find, and getting there without being harassed was the first thing that went right for you today (besides the fact that you survived this long, of course).

After leaving in the opposite direction of the path that Lady Dimitrescu took, you wandered into the entrance hall, walked up the staircase, and checked each door in the hallway. Although there were many doors, it was easy to find the one with a tiled floor. In a place this big, there were probably other bathrooms scattered all around. This one is smaller than you expected, but like every other room, it still has that gold shimmer on the surface of everything in it.

You close the door behind you, wishing it had a lock, but it’s unlikely anyone will barge in if it’s closed. Did anyone see you walk in here? You constantly checked over your shoulder in the hallway outside and didn’t notice anything strange (or anyone creeping on you). Voices were heard sometimes, but they sounded far away. 

If any of the daughters had seen you, it would’ve resulted in a confrontation; that didn’t happen, so you’re (probably) safe. Nevertheless, you search the room, wondering if anything in here could be brandished as a weapon in case anyone attacks you (it would be especially terrible if this happened while you were in the middle of taking a bath). 

Underneath a mirror is a counter, and shockingly, there’s a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste there (you guess even vampires, cannibals, or whatever the hell those women are must need to brush their teeth if they want to keep them). You notice the bristles on the brush are stained red. The sink also has streaks of blood in it (you will probably never get used to seeing blood everywhere).

You check a side closet, taking out shampoo and conditioner bottles, not knowing or caring who they belong to (you doubt any of those creatures out there take baths). There’s also body wash (unsurprisingly, the bottle is full) and bath towels to dry off with. You set the towels on a small side table and take the three bottles with you.

At the back of the room is a shower curtain, surrounding the bathtub you’ve been seeking out so desperately. You pull it back slowly, almost expecting someone to be hiding behind it (there isn’t; maybe your luck really is turning around).

Sighing with relief, you sit on the edge of the tub, applying a drain stopper you found in the closet. You twist the hot water nozzle, adding the occasional splash of cold water to it so that you won’t boil alive.  
You watch the tub fill up carefully, as you don’t want any of it to spill over the side and onto the floor. The last thing you needed was to make more work for yourself; you’ll be getting enough jobs to do later (you were both terrified and excited about what they would be, but mostly terrified).

Now’s not the time to think about that, though. You finally have a moment to yourself, and would rather not waste it worrying about what will happen over the next few days, weeks, or however long it takes you to escape (you hope you make it that long).

Satisfied with the temperature, you shut the nozzle off and take the body wash, pouring most of it in and swirling the water around. This brews a layer of bubbles on the surface, and you set down the shampoo and conditioner on a shelf above the tub. Your preparations finally done, you remove your maid outfit (it was skimpy, but you still felt exposed without it), folding and placing it beneath the towels you left on the table. You settle into the water carefully to avoid splashing any of it out.

Your back is still sore from the two times you were slammed against a wall, as well as your stomach from being crushed under the heel of your mistress (the bruise that’ll come from this is sure to take up your entire stomach), but the hot water is already easing the tension you feel. You lean your head back and close your eyes, knowing that this is well-deserved after the hell you’ve been put through (even if you enjoyed some of it). 

If only things could always be this calm and safe. Unfortunately, this feeling of respite doesn’t last long, and to your horror, you hear the door slam open.

The shower curtain is drawn, so you can’t see who’s coming in. You can hear quiet footsteps, though, so you know it can’t be Lady Dimitrescu. That means it can only be one of the three daughters (you hope it’s not the blonde one again; you don’t think your heart can handle another encounter like that). 

The intruder’s hand pulls the barrier back.

“Oh my god,” you scream. As predicted, it’s one of the daughters, but this time it’s the brunette one. You had seen the night before but hadn’t interacted with her… until now. She has the same strange markings covering her face as her sister does (probably drawn on with someone’s blood).

There’s not much of a physical resemblance between them and their mother. The only thing they seem to have in common is that they wear black lipstick (do they share the same stick?) and look creepy as hell, as if they hadn’t seen sunlight in years. Of course, there was also that predatory gaze they all seemed to possess...

You almost splashed your newest visitor at her sudden appearance; thankfully, you stopped yourself, as she probably would’ve strangled you in retaliation. You hope she’s not as crazy as her sister (her hair at least looks more tame), but the fact that she walked in on you while taking a bath is not doing her any favors. 

And where did she come from? Was she watching you the entire time you were in the hallway? Or maybe she just so happened to hear you turn the water on and decided to investigate? Either way, why can’t any of these women mind their own business? You hadn’t done anything (so far) to prompt unwarranted (but somewhat desired) attention to yourself.

Your latest guest looks smug (another trait they share with their mother) upon seeing you in such a vulnerable position. “Oh? I’m not your god. But I can pretend to be, if you want me to…” You start panicking as she reaches for your neck; you want to move away from her, but you know it’ll make her mad. And if you instigate a fight, water will get on the floor, and it’ll be your job to clean it up.

Great. Not only do two of the sisters love to scare you, but both of them also can’t keep their hands off you. Worst of all, though, was that both of them have a god complex.

Thinking of god complexes, you jolt as you remember one of the rules you were given. Did you have to kneel when you were sitting in a bathtub? You weren’t sure. It wasn’t worth losing your life over, though, so you do just that (the hand on your neck makes this slightly difficult), covering as much of your chest as you can with your arms. You hope she doesn’t notice this.

“Don’t be shy, let me see them,” she coaxes, referring to what you’re trying to hide. Fuck, she did notice. She releases her grip on your neck and crosses her arms, waiting impatiently. Your body heats up, and you know that it’s not from the water. You turn your head away, deliberately avoiding eye contact, and move your arms to the side (it must still be okay for them to look).

She leans closer and whistles. “Nice. Wish I could touch them. Seems that Daniela was right about you.” Is that the blonde sister’s name? It must be, because she’s the only other person who’s been around you enough to be able to say anything about you.

“About?” you murmur, not really wanting to know what her sister was ‘right’ about.

“Said you were weak and soft-looking, but your body does a nice job at keeping your guts in one place,” she admits, coming dangerously close to making her compliment sound like a threat. “I can’t wait to drag my sickle down your stomach and hear the soft ripping sound your skin makes,” she rasps. “I’ll cut you wide open and get my hands all over your internal organs. I’m getting riled up just thinking about it...” If there was a line, she crossed it. Spectacularly.

She then reaches inside her cloak for something and pulls out a sickle, raising it above her head. For a moment, you think she’s going to jump in the tub with you and start slashing away, and you cover up your chest again, hugging your knees. Your arms and legs won’t protect you, but it makes you feel better to have something cover your stomach.

The sickle plunges into the bath water, getting blood mixed in with the soap. At first your eyes widen in shock, but when you realize what happened, they narrow. The nerve of that bitch, ruining your bath time and polluting the water with blood from god knows who. You can feel your jaw tremble with rage, and you set your chin on top of your knees to keep it steady.

“What? I was just cleaning it,” she sneers, taking note of the anger you were trying to supress. “If it was Daniela that walked in on you, she would’ve had you licking the bloodstains off.” She takes the sickle back out and waves it to dry it off, getting water droplets on your face. You’re biting your tongue very hard now, holding back from raising your voice.

“I believe I’ll be seeing a lot more of you later, heh…” she pushes the curtain back and exits the room as quickly as she entered, closing the door behind her (you are amazed she had the decency to do that), leaving you by yourself again.

No longer in the mood for relaxing, you decide to use the shampoo and conditioner before anyone else can walk in on you (perhaps the only time you will ever be alone is when you sleep). You make sure not to get any water on the bandage covering the left side of your neck, cleaning around it and finally pulling the bath plug. 

Watching the bubbles disappear down the drain, you silently thank them for their protection, as they covered the bottom half of your body from prying eyes. Stepping out of the tub and standing on the bath mat, you grab the towels you’d set aside and immediately wrap them around you, afraid that someone else might come in.

After drying your hair, you change back into your ‘uniform’ and leave everything clean and placed where it should be, even going as far as to scrub away the bloodstains in the sink (you didn’t dare touch the toothbrush, though). Leaving the door open behind you, you step back out into the hallway, no longer in your safe place (not that the bathroom ever was one, what with people barging in).

You don’t walk very far before seeing something odd.

One of the doors that was closed before is now wide open. You don’t hear any noises coming from inside, and curiosity gets the better of you. There wasn’t a rule against exploring, was there? No, none of the five rules forbid you from going anywhere. You poke your head through the doorway. There is no one else in the room.

The room is small, and positioned against the back wall is a bed, much fancier than the one you had in your cell. On the bedside table next to it is what looks to be a journal. You walk over to it, wondering who it belongs to. You open the inside cover and see a name: Daniela. 

Now that you know the journal belongs to, your interest is piqued (what kind of idiot leaves their name in their journal?) You might actually find out some secrets about her. And the more you knew, the more ammo you could use to defend yourself, perhaps even use it as blackmail the next time she threatens you...

The book is about halfway full and has several bloodstains throughout its pages. The first few entries only describe the people she’s killed (and what they tasted like), so you skip through until you’re near the end, looking for something more recent. 

You have to admit her handwriting is nice; if only it rubbed off on her personality. Smiling to yourself at the thought, you try to imagine Daniela as a normal person. You don’t really know her, but you could never picture her as sane; if she was, she could even be considered as pretty (but perhaps her craziness is why you find yourself attracted to her).

Having found the most recent entry, you start reading.

“We got a new victim today. She’s not from here, or she would’ve known not to even look in our direction. She came right to us! We don’t get many visitors, so we’re giving her one hell of a welcome.”

She was right about the ‘welcome’ part. You feel stupid again, thinking of how clueless you must’ve looked to these people (if you could call them that) for walking right into their trap. Curiosity pushes you to keep going, though, and you press on.

“Mother had been watching her the whole time…”

A chilling sensation travels up your spine, and you turn around to make sure no one is behind you before continuing to read. For how long had her mother been watching you, and from where? She must’ve been looking out from a window that was very high up.

“... And once New Girl walked in, she went outside and blocked the front door.”

That would explain why it didn’t open when you tried to escape. And here you thought it was because the door just didn’t like you.

“Once Mother was done feeding from her, she told me to take our latest guest into the cellar. I licked up the dried blood and put a bandage on her neck before dropping her on the bed. I stayed behind to watch her for a bit. She makes the cutest noises when she sleeps! I wonder what other sounds she can make. I bet I could make her-”

It’s best not to finish reading that page (did you really make noises in your sleep?). You turn to the next one.

“Then Mother came back to check on her, so I left. Said she wanted to take her bloodstained clothes off and put her into something more comfortable.”

You blink. Comfortable? Since when did anyone here care about how comfortable you were? That doesn’t seem right. She probably only took off what you were wearing because she, like everyone here, is a shameless pervert. You guess her nature rubbed off on her daughters; if anyone’s to blame for their behavior, it’s her.

“A few hours later, I came back to the cellar and hid at the dark end of the hallway so nobody could see me. I got a glimpse of New Girl getting changed.”

So she did see you naked, just as you thought. Part of you wants to stop reading (the other part is intrigued), but your eyes can’t stop themselves from moving left to right. 

“After seeing that, I had to get my hands on her. When she left the cell, I grabbed her from behind. Was nice to hear her scream, but I didn’t want Mother to know what I did, so I shushed her. Then she started squirming, so I put her up against the wall and pinned her throat down. She was terrified, as she should be, but I sensed something else from her. If I had been allowed to touch her, I think things may have escalated a bit further than my little victim imagined…”

Fuck. Was nothing sacred here? You weren’t even free to your own thoughts. You hadn’t made any obvious signs of how you felt, but somehow, she seemed to sense them anyway (is it possible she could smell arousal?) There is only one more page to read:

“At the same time, she is repulsed by me, and seems to love being clean. She’s been here less than a day, and she’s already taking a bath? Pathetic.”

You just took that bath about a half hour ago, so this entry was written very recently; she could still be around here. You put the journal down for a moment, return to the hallway, and look both ways to reassure yourself that nobody is watching you before heading back into the room. You quickly relocate the page you were on and continue from there.

“I feel like she’s looking down at me, like I’m some kind of heathen.”

It’s disturbing how accurate she is about what you think of her; the word ‘heathen’ definitely crossed your mind at least once, along with others like ‘feral’, ‘rabid’, and ‘bitch’.

“Perhaps I should make her dirty. She would probably be grossed out if I shoved my fingers down her throat. I can’t wait for this restriction to be lifted on the whole ‘touching’ thing. Then, I’ll be able to do whatever I want with her. She’ll finally be mine.”

The last word is underlined several times, and the rest of the page is filled with nothing but ‘mine’ repeated throughout it. The writings of a madwoman. You can’t help but think of all the things she may have in mind for you, disgusted at yourself for entertaining the thought.

Nevertheless, you are so thankful for the restriction that Lady Dimitrescu has in place. You hope she never lifts it. As unbelievable as it sounds, she may be the only thing keeping you alive.

Before you can put the journal down, you hear the door shut, along with a lock clicking into place. You don’t have to turn around to know you’ve been caught. Trapped, in fact. With someone who wants to eat you, but not before ‘playing’ with you first.

You know you fucked up, and now you must own up to it. You face her, remembering the rules again, and kneel. Maybe she will show you mercy (you know you don’t deserve it, though) if you look submissive; the same tactic worked on her mother, didn’t it?

She stands over you, looking pretty content despite knowing that her inner thoughts and feelings have been unmasked. “I could get used to seeing you like that,” she says, putting a hand in your hair and pulling you closer to her. This elicits a squeak of pain out of you, and she uses her other hand to grab you by the chin, forcing you to look up at her.

“Well, you’ve done it now. You read my diary. How are you going to fix this? How are you going to make things up to me?” Daniela smiles, obviously thinking of something devious (and degrading). 

“You’re going to tell your mother, aren’t you? She’ll kill me. Isn’t that good enough for you?” you reason. She’d probably make a show out of it, too, torturing you in several different ways before ripping your heart out through your chest.

“I won’t tell her,” she offers, “if you give me something in return.”

“What-” You don’t have time to finish before she grabs you under the arms, throws you onto the bed behind you. A sickle is pulled out of her cloak, and you know what's going to happen.

You’re flailing to get back up, but she’s already on top of you, pinning you down. “What a nice snack to hold me over until supper,” she giggles. “My throat has been so dry today...” She slashes down the right side of your neck, digging her tongue into the wound she made. She’s a lot less precise than her mother (you preferred a nail being dragged down your neck to this), making it all the more agonizing. This time, you can’t stop yourself from screaming in pain.

Trying to kick her off only seems to excite her. “Yes, yes! Keep fighting back! Get that adrenaline pumping! It’ll make you taste even better!” She lifts her face from your neck to look down at you, and you can see the blood smeared across her mouth. Your blood. 

You don’t want to give her what she wants, so you stay still. There’s no use in pushing back, anyway; she’s too strong, and you’re already losing consciousness as you had the night before. She drags her tongue across your face, still laughing. “So much for that bath, huh?” You can barely register what she says, but you can feel her body pressing into yours.

The thought of being in bed with her should’ve kept you wide awake, but your body is begging you to let go. The only thing comforting you is that your spine is pressed against something soft for once. Before you fall asleep, you hope you wake up to something better… if you wake up at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "SHE RUINED MY DREAM JOURNAL!"

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr/twitter @ the same name I have here. I need more RE mutuals...


End file.
